


the song of the wolfspider

by OnyxSphinx



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, annabelle abuses her mother of puppets given powers, but kind of sweet tbh?, diasy just wants to give annabelle her fucking parking ticket, fair warning: it's all lowercase. this is on purpose.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Annabelle Crane: chronic dodger of parking tickets and the current bane of Daisy Tonner's life.
Relationships: Annabelle Cane/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	the song of the wolfspider

**Author's Note:**

> this is utterly and shamelessly cracky. but i do like the shipname wolfspider.

the thing about being a member of the police force is that daisy does, actually, do other things besides handle section 31 cases. sure, those are a large portion of her work-load, but she does do other things. regular cases, paperwork, or, like right now, parking tickets.

“i swear to god,” she sighs, and scribbles out a ticket, hand aching from the number of them that she’s already written up, “you’d think people would be able to follow basic laws like _park in the areas specifically marked for that purpose_.”

the car—if one can even call it that—in question is an eye-watering shade of purple, with gaudy gold detailing that looks a bit like, if you squint and tilt your head, a spider’s web.

she marches over and slips the ticket under the windshield wiper and turns to go back to her squad car when there’s a soft cough. “miss tonner,” says a voice, “i don’t need a parking ticket.”

daisy turns around slowly; her shoulders tensed, her hand inching towards her holster. “ma’am, you’re getting that ticket,” she says, keeping her voice even, “because you are a good two feet outside of the marked parking area.”

the woman—tall, taller than her, which is unusual, her long, dark hair done up into dozens of intricate braids on one side and buzzed on the other, with a spider-web pattern dyed into it in white—laughs. “i don’t need a parking ticket,” she says, again. “actually, you’re going to take that parking ticket and throw it in the trashbin.”

daisy sputters. “wha—? no, absolutely—not—”

a feeling of odd calm washes over her; and suddenly, she’s reaching out to pluck the ticket from beneath the windshield wiper and ripping it in two and moving to stick it in the nearby trashbin.

the woman smiles at her. “see? that wasn’t too hard, was it? now, be a doll and go sit in your funny little car until i’ve driven away.”

fuming internally, but unable to _not_ , daisy does as suggested, and watches, from in her squad car as the woman gets into her absolutely hideous vehicle and drives away without a single _fucking _repercussion.

once she’s out of sight, the compulsion lifts, and daisy lets out a soft growl. “i’m going to _give_ you a fucking ticket if it _kills_ me.”

* * *

unsurprisingly—because daisy has absolute _shite_ luck—, she runs into the woman again. this time, it’s on a section 31 case. daisy’s just hunkered down in her squad car to stake out the house and see if she can catch anything suspicious.

there’s a sudden roar as the very same purple and gold spider’s web detailed car pulls up and the woman gets out. daisy lets out a groan. of _course_ she’s here. as if this case wasn’t fucking annoying enough _already_.

something catches her eye, and daisy grins. the woman’s parked her car in such a way that it’s blocking the driveway—which is, in fact, _ill-fucking-legal._

she opens the glovebox and roots around; pulls out the packet of blank parking tickets, and then, a few moments afterwards, a pen, and scrambles out of the car onto the pavement, making a bee-line to the hideous car.

she’s just started to write up the parking ticket when the hairs on the nape of her neck prickle, and she whips around to see the woman standing a few paces from the front door of the house she’s been staking out, a slightly bemused expression on her face. “this again, detective?” she drawls.

she’s wearing a black turtleneck, and a pair of web-themed earrings. _fucking tacky_ , daisy thinks viciously. (she does _not_ consider that both of those things fit the woman. her eyes are fixed on the pad of tickets in her hand.) “yeah,” she says, “blocking a driveway is something that can get you written up a ticket for—it obstructs the way of a firetruck, if we needed to get one in here.”

the woman gives her a _look _and slinks closer, her movements not _quite_ human. “i think fire is the _least_ of his concerns, now, detective,” she says. “hmm…i think he’s going to want to call pest control instead.” she reaches out to place a hand—her long, dark fingers ending in perfectly manicured nails—on daisy’s arm just as she reaches out to stick the ticket on the windshield.

“shut up and let go of my arm so i can ticket you,” daisy snaps.

“mmm…i don’t think so,” the woman says, “you’re not going to ticket me, daisy.”

“i…i _am_ ,” she says, but the resolve that was there moments before is fading like morning mist under a hot sun. “fuck you, spider-lady,” she spits as her hand crumples the ticket up and tosses it away into the dark night, only half filled out.

the woman laughs. “annabelle crane,” she says. “and maybe buy me a coffee first, detective. and stop ticketing me.”

with that, she brushes past daisy and gets into her car and drives off.

a moment later, the door to the house bursts open and a man comes barrelling out of it, yammering about spiders trying to take him off and bury him in the garden. daisy lets out a sigh and says, “sir, please slow down and start from the beginning.”

* * *

the next time daisy swings by the archives, basira is there, talking with the creepy sims dude. daisy’s still pretty sure that he killed the old archivist but like, whatever. she’s got bigger fish to fry—namely, talking to elias.

“you want to talk to elias…of your own free will?” basira asks, brow raised. 

daisy grimaces. “trust me,” she says, “it’s not my favourite thing ever, either. but, well…elias _knows_ things.”

basira shrugs. “fair enough,” she says. “i think he’s in his office.”

daisy nods. “thanks,” she says, and makes her way towards the office. elias is, in fact, there, typing away on his computer. daisy’s honestly surprised he knows how to _use_ one. he’s wearing a hideous suit—the man wouldn’t know fashion if it bit him in the arse, honestly. diasy doesn’t know how he managed to marry a _lukas_ —but then again, from what she hears, peter’s a bit of a weirdo too.

“miss tonner,” elias greets, looking up before she’s even opened the door more than just a crack. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“annabelle crane,” she says, “you know anything about her?”

elias hums. “hmm…yes, i know of her. why? has she been up to her cruel games again?”

in her mind’s eye, daisy flashes through fifteen separate parking ticket evasions, two separate instances of traffic violations whilst driving, and a case of tax evasion, all of which, _somehow_ , happened around her or, in the case of the tax evasion, landed on her desk. “not exactly,” she says. 

“ahh,” elias says, and nods, expression fixed in what he probably thinks is understanding and sympathetic, but really just comes off as bemused, which daisy _doesn’t_ appreciate in the slightest. “well. there’s nothing i can do about it, i’m afraid. miss crane has always been a wildcard.”

“wildcard,” daisy snorts, and turns on her heel, stomping out of the office and out of the archives, and nearly fucking _loses_ it when she spots annabelle’s car parked in a _clearly designated_ “no parking” zone.

she marches over to the car, ready to yell at her. when she’s a few paces away, the driver’s side window rolls down and annabelle leans out. “you look stressed,” she says.

“yeah, because of _you_ ,” daisy hisses.

“mm. can i offer you a coffee in repayment?” annabelle asks.

daisy opens her mouth; struggling to find words. after a moment, she says, “you know what, why the fuck not.”

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
